


Enemy at the Gates

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Series: Back Against a Wall [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Love, F/M, Fucking, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Sansa Stark, Rough Sex, Sansa-centric, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi A/U, SanSan:  After a protracted war with the South, Sansa finds Sandor Clegane at the gates of Winterfell. The last of her line and out of options, she hatches a plan to negotiate the terms of her inevitable surrender.This one will be put in the category "Dark Smut." Not in the bondage sense, but in the dark, forbidden love kind of sense. Consider yourself warned -- less a "lovey" one than other stories I've written. But totally PWP.I have to give a shout-out to blodeuweddbach and their work "Terms of Surrender." I loved this idea that I had to take my own twist on it.





	1. Gut Instinct

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Terms of Surrender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296137) by [blodeuweddbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blodeuweddbach/pseuds/blodeuweddbach). 



> I have so many WIPs I should be "whipping" myself :-p The truth is, if I have an idea then I like to write it and get it out there for reactions. I promise to work on stories over the holiday and to update / possibly finish some of my bogymen. 
> 
> In truth this story is warming me up to think about how "Retraining the Hound" should go. At the time I set that one up.....now many moons ago, I wasn't ready to put the characters in a more bondage type setting (writing it is the hard part, the imagination was always there ;-)). This kind of Dark Smut / Dark Love category is my step in that direction. So spreading my wings a bit and having a bit of play time.
> 
> Hopefully you'll enjoy. Again, just to be clear...this won't be a story focusing on their undying love. Rather on the dangers / desires of their union. Sandor will not be cruel that much I can say and neither will she. So let's see how it goes.

**Chapter 1: Gut Instinct**

 

“Come now Lady Stark. The longer you drag this out the more difficult it’s going to get for you.” His voice taunted her from the field in front of Winterfell castle, as if he were a teenager threatening to reveal something embarrassing about her to everybody in attendance. A smug look adorned his marred features, but the Lady of Winterfell could not be sure what his actual reason was for being so proud of himself. One would have thought he’d just conquered the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms the way this mountain of a man sat atop his horse and toyed with her. Sansa looked down at the Hound from the battlements, their eyes locked in a fight for supremacy. 

 

The wind whipped her hair around her face on the this cold day, but it did not deter her from her true purpose. Sansa had not wanted this outcome, but that by no means meant she had not considered the eventuality of such a thing. 

 

“The way I see it,” the Hound continued from atop his mighty war horse, “you only have two options.” His gravelly voice was thick in the air, his shoulders relaxed as he spoke. 

 

_ ‘He’s so confident.’ _ She thought to herself.  _ ‘Is it possible he’s even fitter than I remember?’ _ She and the Hound had been locked in a war that had lasted over two years. The Lannisters would see her line destroyed for their perceived treachery, and Sansa would not allow her lands to be taken from her. Against all odds, she had proven herself formidable in war. She had found confidence in her strategic mind, presided over many a victory against Sandor Clegane. But it was not to be. For he was here now, knocking on her door. An enemy at the gates.

 

“You can surrender and I promise I will be merciful.” Clegane’s voice held an ulterior meaning, hinting at his true desires -- even if she was the only one to understand his words for what they were. “Or you can fight and I will burn this castle to the ground, sack the North and be on my way.”

 

He had a roguish grin on his face. One that told her he would be happy with either outcome -- the undercurrent of his words implying that she was a prize he coveted -- whether he would take her by force or choice was inconsequential to him. She was the last of her line, the words of her father still fresh in her mind. _ ‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Yet I am packless.’  _

 

Sansa didn’t flinch at his words, though her stomach was turning flips. She would have to answer him, she would have to go through with her plans. Taking a deep breath Sansa opened her mouth to speak but felt a hand on her shoulder stop her.

 

“You don’t have to do this my Lady. We would all fight to the death to defend you and the North.” Brienne of Tarth’s blue eyes held a fear that Sansa was not used to. Not a fear of fighting or death, but for what Sansa was about to do.

 

“Lady Brienne.” Sansa looked into her eyes, searching for her soul and trying to remain as calm as possible. “If I had been gifted with your strength or prowess in battle -- this war might have ended differently.” She sighed, not wanting to regret any decisions she had made, but fighting her feelings all the same. “But I must use every weapon at my disposal. Whether steel, wood or...flesh.”

 

She could see her Sworn Sword’s face flush red with anger, “Sandor Clegane is a pig my lady. He’s not fit to look upon you much less touch you.”

 

_ ‘I am honored to have such loyal fighters at my side.’ _ Sansa knew this, appreciate it greatly. But she was desperate and she needed to sacrifice now, for what she prayed would be an even larger win in the future. Her gut instinct was the most important tool at her disposal, and he was giving her cause to question it.

 

“We women have little choice in such matters. The strongest and most formidable men are rarely the most kind or comely. My duty is to the North, to my line and to all who have fought for me. I will not see more bloodshed.” Sansa had already decided it so and was at peace with her decision. Brieanne needed to be okay with it too if this was to work. She threw Sansa a reluctant look but nodded her agreement.

 

Looking back to the field where Sandor Clegane sat on his horse waiting, several feet in front of his wall of warriors singled out from the crowd, Sansa inhaled. This would not be easy, but it was necessary. 

 

“Clegane.” She began, her voice strong and reverberating against the walls of the castle down toward the field. Sansa would not call him a lord, for it would bring him on the same level as her -- and she knew he hated it. “It seems we, yet again, see things differently.” 

 

A smile crept across his face as she said it, and Sansa wondered what he was thinking. If there was one thing she had learned over this war, it was that he liked a good challenge. He would get nothing less from her, even in the jaws of defeat. “We can discuss your terms. But not here. Perhaps my private rooms would be more ... adequate.” 

 

Sansa held her breath as her chest tightened, hoping her gamble would pay off. Their time together in King’s Landing had been intense. She had been haunted by the idea that he fancied her, though even thinking such a thing would have cost him his head. It was this affection she hoped to exploit for her own survival, for the survival of the North.

 

The Hound let out a whistle and crossed his arms across the horn his saddle, a cheeky smile on his lips. There was a grumbling from the crowd at her offer. “You’d let a rooster in the hen house my Lady?”

 

At this remark, Sansa couldn’t help but let the right side of her mouth turn into smirk.  _ ‘So he does fancy me.’  _ His other words would have hinted at this anyway, but commanders were often given to trying to impress their soldiers. It was the way he said this phrase, the twinkle in his eye that confirmed what Sansa had been gambling on.

 

She let him bask in the smiles of his men before she spoke. “No. I’d allow a dog into the wolf’s lair. So as you can see, we do have much to discuss.” 

 

Brienne stifled a laugh as Sansa cocked her head to the side and met Clegane’s eyes with her own. She didn’t give him a chance to speak, “Come at sundown, but leave your sword and your armor. You won’t be needing them.” Sansa let that sink in a moment. “But of course if you are uncomfortable with this arrangement…”

 

“I’ll be there.” He answered quickly, if not with a bit of wounded ego.

 

She hoped he could see her smile from where he was on his horse. Hoped he could see the little details on her face that signaled her winning this round. He probably had for the Hound snorted, turned Stranger around and rode back into his camp. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief while she watched him ride back to his war camp. 

 

“Draw up the contract.” She ordered Maester Luwin. “Brienne come with me.”

 

They walked into the castle and through its halls in silence. What else was there to do? It was not a joyous occasion, but rather the last act of a desperate woman. Sansa felt the pain of it all, and the sorrow. She would do what she could to lessen the blow, but that didn’t make it any less psychologically devastating. Her thoughts turned back to the Hound. She had learned a lot in King’s Landing and even more as she had been married of to Ramsey Bolton and it gave her pause. She had never been able to live the life she truly wanted -- that was the burden of being a Lady and a Stark. But the younger Clegane had crossed her mind more than a few times since she had fled King’s Landing. He was not like the others -- like Ramsey or his own brother. There was something different about Sandor Clegane that she had always known but couldn’t define. It was a gamble, this plan of hers. Offer herself and her lands to a man like Clegane in return for protection and relative freedom. She hoped her offer would be sweet enough to make him change his colors from red and gold to grey on white. She would not have chosen this for herself and yet, as if facing a wild storm, she felt calm. 

 

_ ‘I trust him despite his current loyalties.’  _ She thought. Now she would have to turn those loyalties. It was both an exciting and strange feeling all at once.  _ ‘Our last hope.’ _

 

Once in her rooms Sansa shut the door and exhaled more deeply than she would have liked. “I can sit in the corner the whole time my Lady if that would make you feel safe.” Brienne offered, though it was clear she was uncomfortable with the idea. Lady Brienne was a maiden afterall, Sansa could relate to that feeling.

 

“Thank you Lady Brienne, but I would not ask you to stay for this evening’s events.” Sansa put a hand on her Sworn Sword’s shoulder in order to comfort her. “But I do need you to advise me on what to wear.” At this Brianne's eyes got wide, a confused look crossing her face.

 

Sansa continued. “You know these kinds of men well. You have trained, eaten and fought beside them. So more than ever, I need to know what might appeal the most to the Hound -- without it seeming like that is my aim.”

 

Lady Brienne shuddered at the implication of her words, but nodded in understanding. “It should be simple my Lady. It is not your dress or finery he will be interested in.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Sansa went to her dresser. She picked a forest green dress with the insignia of her House. It was simple in cut and style, easy to remove and it suited her. “How about this?” She held it up against the front of her body.

 

Brienne shook her head yes. 

 

“What about underneath? I was thinking...” Sansa asked.

 

“Silk my Lady.” Brienne interrupted.

 

Sansa lifted an eyebrow in question. “It’s something he’s not used to. Only women of your standing would wear such a thing -- it would be -- exotic.” Brianne continued though clearly uncomfortable with where the topic was going. 

 

_ ‘So it will distinguish me from the common tavern whores he is used to. That’s at least something.’  _ She mused, though not cheerfully as she searched her dresser drawers. 

 

Sansa picked something black and simple, but that she thought might appeal to a man like Clegane. The silken bra cupped her breasts but plunged deep, just hiding her nipples from view. It would give him a good look at her cleavage, should he need to be reminded of her breasts. The underwear covered her woman’s place and cut steeply across her bum, showing more of her backside than she thought appropriate. ‘But for this meeting it certainly will be.’ 

 

Turning back to Brienne Sansa asked one final question. “And my hair?”

 

At this the mountain of a woman in front of Sansa shook her head. Raising her hand to Sansa’s shoulder Brienne spoke. “My Lady you are so beautiful, to think this would collapse on a hairstyle is folly.”

 

She was right of course, but Sansa was so nervous about the outcome that it was easy to nitpick the small things. Naturally she would have to reason with him, talk to him, persuade him with words just as much as with ...everything else. After a long pause Brienne continued, “Leave it long and loose. The Hound is not one for formalities, so the more relaxed you appear the more relaxed he will be.”

 

Sansa shook her head in confirmation that she understood the point. Clegane would be suspicious of her motives, he would be more edgy and distrustful than usual. It would be her job to put him at ease, make him agreeable and hopefully win him over to her side. If they joined armies theirs would rival the Lannisters. Whatmore, Sansa was more liked than Cersei -- surely they would be able to gain some support from the other lords of Westeros. 

 

Though she could not be bothered with these thoughts at the moment. Focusing once again, Sansa added, “I’ll bring a flagon of wine with me.” But Brienne's expression told her something different. “Two flagons of wine with me so as to relax him and further the conversation along.”

 

Brienne nodded. “Be careful Lady Stark. If you anger him in such a state, it could result in…”

 

Sansa would not hear it. “No.” She interjected. “He would never lay a hand on me like that, ever.” She had been beaten before, she knew the look in a man’s eye when he was going to do it. But for all the times the Hound had been rough with her, never had he ever looked at her the way Joffrey or Ramsay had. 

 

“But how can you be sure?” Her Sworn Sword’s words pointed to her confusion, and a bit of her disbelief. 

 

It seemed silly, surely. Given what Gregor Clegane was capable of, but Sansa trusted her instinct despite this. “I just am.” Was all Sanasa could say in response. “Now please, ensure everybody in the castle is secure. If you want you may stay be the door once he is inside but please don’t disturb us unless you think...unless it’s clear that he’s…” She didn’t finish her sentence but she didn’t have to.

 

Bowing Brienne left the room. Turning quickly to the mirror on her vanity Sansa looked at herself a long while. She wasn’t searching her features for beauty, but for strength. Now, more than ever, she would have to be tough and fearless. Her thoughts went to Arya and it made her heart heavier. In all truth Sansa shouldn’t have been the Stark to survive this purge on her family, she was the least bred for war and woefully ill prepared for the real world. 

 

_ ‘Yet here I am.’ _ She mouthed to herself in the mirror. The Hound was not prepared for what he would encounter, but neither was she. It would be the first time they had been so close since they were both in the Red Keep. Then he had pressed her against a wall, threatened her even -- they had even kissed. Ladies such as Sansa did not often have the luxury of experiencing true sexual desire, but that kiss had planted a seed in her that day. It had made her feel something deep in her womb that she had never felt again -- that she had felt dead. But seeing him this day, calm, confident -- almost cheerful -- had made her wonder if she might soon feel this desire again.

 


	2. Diverging Interests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa realizes she will need to have all her wits about her to sway Sandor to her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. We should be starting our slow descent into smut rather soon. 
> 
> The song Absolute Zero by Stone Sour keeps playing in my head while I write this. "I'm not the Devil, but I won't be your hero." ;-)
> 
> It's been a nice challenge to write this kind of dark sexual desire, certainly different from other things. It's a challenge to find the right words and descriptors to really do it. But the fire is nice and crackling, there is a small layer of snow outside and I'm putting my mind to work on it. Hugs!

**Chapter 2:  Diverging Interests**

 

She’d kept him waiting of course. They were in her home after all, at the very least she could dictate some of the terms of his visit. Aside from that it would have been ridiculous to be sitting there prim and proper like a sacrificial lamb awaiting his blade. Sansa shook her head at this thought. By no means was she a lamb -- not anymore. It was all for the better, at least that’s what she told herself. In truth, her existence was a lonely one -- devoid of happiness and human contact. The Lannisters had seen to that by waging this war and killing many of her family -- and making her a pariah in Westeros. The Northern Lords had gone after the scraps left by the void of her father and brother’s deaths  in quick turn. It had taken her all the luck she had and all the power she and her name could muster to bring the unruly lords together under the Stark banner again. Sansa was not unaware of how tenuous this alliance was. She would need a man at her side. One that inspired both fear and respect in the hearts of the Northern Lords. That was what had lead her here, to this very point. Now she would have the toughest battle of the whole war -- winning over the loyal Lannister dog.

 

It was a daunting task -- one she could not predict the outcome of.

 

So Sansa had bided her time and observed Sandor Clegane as he entered the castle from a small window in a spare room. It would be the only chance she would get to size him up before she joined him in her rooms. It had been a very long time since she had seen him last and one could only hope he had changed somewhat. He was not a very agreeable person, even if he did fancy her -- he would not simply turn his head if she asked him to. Not by a longshot.

 

Night had fallen, but the torch light illuminated his huge body as he made his way through the courtyard, alone. It was eerie to watch him walk the quiet courtyard of her normally bustling castle. It was as if they were the only two people alive, the darkness shutting everything else out. He wore no armor and carried no weapon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intimidating. The near darkness could not hide what he was made for, what he had chosen as a calling -- destruction. The Hound was larger than she remembered, his great broad shoulders certainly eclipsted her own narrow ones three fold. His biceps were unapologetic through his tunic, as if the poor piece of cloth would never be able to truly contain his strength. Sansa noted how tapered his waist was, showing his leanness honed through years and years of fighting. He was a dangerous man, a deadly one. But with that came a beauty she could not describe. It was something that prevented Sansa from ripping her eyes from the Hound as he walked confidently to the stairs.

 

 _‘There are worse men to offer yourself to.’_ She thought, trying to calm a burning fire in her belly.

 

He could have been old enough to be her grandfather, or fat -- sickly even. It was silly in this moment to think of such things, but the Cleganes certainly came from a good stock if strength and size was what you prized. Sansa would not just need a capable general and fighter by her side, she would need him to sire another generation of Starks.These were dire times, and she could not afford to bring philosophers or Maesters into this world. Sure, the Hound would take issue with her keeping her name, but there was nothing in Northern law to prevent her from doing so. And therein lay her concern -- he would have to agree to everything not just parts. Otherwise her plan would fail. It was important her family name live on, and what more that they maintain control of the North. If this war had taught her anything, it was the meek didn’t factor in much when it really counted -- when your people were being murdered and raped -- your family too. Only the strong survived.

 

 _‘I could get used to him.’_ She told herself, watching him top the stairs and make his way to her rooms.

 

Clegane had cleaned himself up for the occasion, she could see it as the stairs brought him nearer to her secret perch. Part of her was grateful she wouldn’t have to fight the smell of a man that had spent better part of the last two years in various war camps across the countryside. She would have enough of a battle on her hands this night.

 

 _‘Perhaps he has his own desires for this evening.’_ She smirked to herself. Her invitation had been only thinly veiled -- and Sandor Clegane was not a stupid man. Aggressive perhaps, fueled by anger without a doubt, but not stupid.

 

The only point left to consider was how to present herself. _‘If I am meek he will smell blood. If I am too strong he’ll feel like I am trying to rule him. So how to do it right?’_

 

It was not an easy game to play. Lord Baelish had taught her many games, but this would be one of the more difficult. There was no use appealing to the Hound’s vanity - he would merely laugh in her face. Deceiving him would be difficult, if not impossible. The man had a sixth sense for lies -- so most of what she had learned from her political mentor would not apply in this moment. She would have to dig deeper if she truly wanted to win him to her side. Sansa’s mind returned to King’s Landing -- a lifetime ago. She had been a silly girl then, innocent of the deeds of man. She would have to show him that she was a reliable partner, somebody who understood the magnitude of what she would ask of him. And, perhaps most importantly someone he could trust.

 

 _‘He knows I’m different somehow. He’s tasted defeat at my hands, surely he must expect something else than the maiden I once was.’_ She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. There was no sense in turning him away from her, but his brash ways made it difficult to know what he perceived as strength or just pure idiocy. There was no doubt in Sansa’s mind that she would need to be careful.

 

She watched the hourglass empty itself halfway before making her way down the silent hallway to her rooms. Winterfell was empty, not a soul roamed its vacant hallways. It was all for the better -- one could never know if this whole meeting was a trick, a cover for more devious deeds. Pushing the door open with her hip, for she carried two rather heavy and full flagons of wine with her. Sansa couldn’t suppress the tension in her chest and the beating of her wild heart in this moment.

 

Sandor stood there in the middle of the room, his head turned toward the door. He had clearly been pacing the room, his mood both anxious and foul. Sansa needed him a bit upset, she hoped to then sooth his ruffled feathers. That would be her in, sooth the wild beast and gain his respect.

 

“If you wanted me to be lenient girl, you should have come half an hour ago.” There was a heated tone to his voice, as if he was personally offended by her actions.

 

Observing him in the firelight Sansa could only smile her own devilish little grin. “You’ve changed little since we were in King’s Landing together Clegane. Still big, strong and notoriously ill tempered.” She sat the heavy flagons on a table and poured two chalices to the brim.

 

It was easy to forget that she needed to look up at him, the Hound was known to be a monster among men. Yet she still had not been prepared for how he towered over her. Approaching him Sansa couldn’t help but be caught up in his aura. There was a dark and animalistic feel to the man she had never experienced in King’s Landing. It was as if he was taking her in with all of his senses, calculating all of the deviant acts he could perform with her in a night. Feasting on her completely without anyone there to stop him. There was a thin line between wanting to taste blood and wanting to suck softly on skin -- and she could not tell which one he truly wanted more. It sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine -- but from fear or arousal she could not be sure. This raw sexuality radiated from his being as if it were fog rising from a lake on a cold morning. Looking him over again, Sansa decided it  was in his eyes mainly, their steel greyness admiring her beauty and at the same time searching out her weaknesses. Sandor Clegane was a predator, a man who had made his fortune and name from sizing up his opponents. Sansa fought to steady her breath as their eyes remained locked on one another's. Now was not a time to be untruthful with herself. She had always found the Hound a mystery and a challenge. A man who could never be tamed. Perhaps that was why this feeling he was giving off aroused her as it did. The fear of giving yourself to a man who might not be able to contain his own passions or desires -- who had never needed to -- was alluring. It was the thrill one must have gotten from riding a wild horse for the first time and knowing it would most certainly buck you. For the first time in a very long time, Sansa felt excitement even if it was tempered by a fear.

 

Attempting to break his odd charm, Sansa reached a chalice out to him, but the tension in the air only grew. Clegane didn’t take it from her hands right away, preferring to finish whatever he was doing to her with his eyes first, before taking the cup from her hand. HIs index finger sliding over the top of her own  -- as if testing whether she were real or not. The warm line his rough finger left on her hand prickled her skin. They clinked glasses but he waited for her to take the first sip. Sansa smiled at this, he certainly was a man on his guard.

 

“You’ve worked too long for the Lannisters to think I’d poison you now, when it’s just getting fun.” Sansa kept her voice steady, trying to gauge his notoriously impassive face.

 

The Hound said nothing as he emptied the cup and poured himself another. He always kept an eye on her though, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was afraid she would attack him or run. Either way, she stayed as still as possible not wanting to do anything to agitate him further.

 

When he did finally speak, his words were ominous. “I’m of the mind to burn this shithole to the ground and just be done with it.” He said finally, after the second glass of wine was near its completion.

 

 _‘Well I did get him good and angry._ ’ She remarked to herself, fear replacing the lust that had been slowly filling her belly.

 

“Do that and I’ll almost surely live to fight another day Clegane. My family has lived within these walls for over a thousand years. To think I don’t know every way to vacate it would be folly.” She paused a moment, “But no more armies meeting on the battlefield, we’ll take our fight underground.” Sansa couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but they had an effect on him.

 

“And you don’t think I wouldn’t hunt you down until the ends of the earth girl?” The Hound took a step toward her, his eyes narrowed, his voice low and dripping with vitriol.

 

It would have been easy to recoil at his display, fold to his threat. But nothing in her life had been easy as of late, and she’d be a fool to back down now. “Would that be out of loyalty or something else Clegane?”

 

That seemed to jolt him from his mood, for he took a step back from her, filled his cup again and turned to the fire to watch the flames dance. Knowing better than to press her advantage right now, Sansa waited patiently while the Hound considered his next words. She knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. His orders had been clear, to capture the North and ensure she be sent back to face trial in King’s Landing. So all of this was completely unnecessary -- unless his motives diverged from those of his keepers. Unless he wanted something. As of now, Sansa didn’t know the answer to this question.

 

“You could surrender.” He started again after an uncomfortable silence had passed. “And I could make sure you are protected. Treated well. Your transport delayed.” Clegane had turned his head back toward her now, his tone more even than it had been before. His anger had passed, for now - his baser instincts kicking in again.

 

“I imagine there would be payment involved.” She dragged out the sentence, in a vain attempt to discern his thoughts. “Undoubtedly some payment tonight and some payment later.”

 

A smug grin crossed his face at her frankness. Both of them knew what the implications were, he’d come there hoping she would surrender to him and keep his bed warm for the duration. The Hound put his hands on his hips waiting for her response with that confident air about him he had had on the field only hours before.

 

“And if I surrender but refuse your payment terms?” She asked, just to annoy him a bit. There was no other way to know where his thoughts were, other than to provoke him. That turned his mood quickly, she could see his face fill with rage.

 

“Then I throw you in the dungeons naked with the rest of your men.” He spoke through clenched teeth, as if he had had enough of her games. “Then you’ll see what they really think of their Queen of the North.”

 

His words were harsh, they bit down to the bone. It was not the first time sexual violence had been threatened upon her -- but she did hope it would be the last. Her experiences had helped her to grow a thick skin, but words like these always left her feeling uneasy. That was the point after all. Sansa poured herself another chalice of wine to buy herself a bit of time, for what she was about to propose he had surly not thought of -- and that was a good thing. Diverging interests but along a similar theme. _‘Perhaps I can sway him.’_

 

“It’s difficult for me no matter what I choose.” Sansa started, making sure her eyes did not falter form his.  “So you’ll have to forgive me, but I decline your offers in favor of my own.”

 

Once the Hound realized what she was doing, he barked a loud condescending laugh. “Then you are as stupid as Joffrey always said.”

 

She couldn’t help the flush that rose in her chest and cheeks at his words. It was the burden of being a redhead -- that her emotions displayed themselves so easily in her skin. It was her anger that came out first, “Sit down and drink your wine.” She ordered, a voice one might use on a misbehaving dog, “It's my turn to talk.”

 

The strength and anger of her words struck a chord with the warrior, for he smirked, poured himself a glass of wine and gestured to her as if the floor were hers. The condescension and entitlement oozing off of him made Sansa want to walk right over there and slap that grin right off his great big face. But she didn’t, she had to be stronger than that. Clegane wanted her to overreact after all, he was provoking her just as she had provoked him only moments before. It would only play into his vision of her, show herself to be an irrational woman instead of a reliable partner.

 

 _‘You’ve got only one shot.’_ She told herself while she stared defiantly into his magnetic eyes. Sansa would not have much time to plead her case for she knew his patience would be limited to the amount of wine he had in his cup.


	3. The Secret Art of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes Sandor Clegane an offer his is not eager to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our little negotiation before we get to the "good stuff". Big hugs and a Merry Christmas to all!

#  Chapter 3:  The Secret Art of Desperation

 

“What will you get once you’ve conquered the North?” Sansa asked him in the darkness of her rooms where only the fireplace and a few low lit lamps illuminated Sandor Clegane’s face. 

 

“Lands? Riches?” The shadows of the room danced across his features creating movement that wouldn’t normally be there, yet she was pretty sure she could detect a slight change in them at her words.The half darkness should have made his face terrifying, like a monster lurking in her chambers waiting for the right moment to strike. But instead Sansa found herself studying his face more closely than she had in a long time. Enjoying the character his scars gave it instead of being repulsed by it. 

 

“I didn’t think so.” Sansa said after letting her question hang in the air. The Hound’s slight change in facial expression was all she needed to know the answer.

 

“So the Lannisters give you a pat on the back? A little scratch behind the ears for their glorious dog perhaps? Then send you off to fight another war where knowing that one day their loyal dog might not return.” She spoke condescendingly on purpose. He wasn’t the only one who could use such a tone, and Sansa would not be spoken to in her own home like that without a fight.

 

He was trying to remain impassive yet attentive as she spoke before him, standing a few feet away. The realization hit her only then that she was about to offer a man who had seemingly no interest in a title and lands, a title and lands. But this would not deter her. There was more to it than the formalities, something deeper she needed to appeal to. His sense of self worth.The very human need to have respect.

 

“You are disposable to them Clegane. I think that’s been clear since we first met in Winterfell so many years ago.” She looked him right in the eye as she said it, not knowing a better way to get through to him than that. 

 

Raising to her full height and taking a breath, Sansa continued. “I’m offering you a partnership in joining our Houses. Our combined armies are larger than that of the Lannisters and your men are from the West -- loyal only to you. I’m sure it would not take us long to defea…”

 

Before she could finish her words the Hound let out a laugh, nearly spitting his wine out of his mouth. “I take it back. You aren't stupid. You’re a fucking nutter.” He sat forward in the chair, “Thinking I’d put my head on the line to save you. I’m not a knight from your fucking fairy tales little girl. When will you get that through that thick skull of yours?”

 

He might as well have punched her in the stomach, for she felt all the air in her lungs suddenly leave. Sansa didn’t have to look in the mirror to know the color was rising in her cheeks and that her chest was flush. 

 

“I’m offering you marriage, with lands and everything that comes with it.” It was hard to keep her voice strong despite her seemingly immediate lack of oxygen. But she did so -- letting her true annoyance at his words show through. “You can call me whatever you like, but we are self made people here in the North. You would be respected, revered even if we joined forces and fought off the Lannisters.” 

 

She drank her wine angrily and put it down on a table near her. “You’re a brilliant commander so I don’t find my offer as outlandish as you make it.” Sansa paused a moment and then let her final words slip, a softer tone accompanying them. “And besides, I have every intention of making your bed inviting.”

 

A part of her had wanted to bring him to her side through normal negotiation and logic as if he were standing across from a Lord Stark instead of her. It seemed almost like cheating to revert to such base bargaining chips making her feel weak. The other part of her felt there was no point in hiding her intentions now, that she had always expected to sweeten the deal with her own body. Sansa had not had much exposure to the outside world, everything she knew about it she had learned only in the last years. But one thing was certain, sex and power were two very strong bargaining chips in a man’s world. And at the moment, she held both.  

 

His silence surprised her and he brought his hand to his chin as if he were considering something for a moment. While he did so, and took his sweet time about it. Sansa’s stomach was doing flips. She certainly felt as though she would be ill, her throat pulsating as if she would throw-up from pure anxiety. He had laughed at her proposition outright, yet now he sat there mulling something over. There was no doubt in her mind that the Hound’s bark was worse than his bite where she was concerned. Yet that did not give her much comfort in this moment. He was considering something she could not know, for she could not devine the depths of his heart or his desires. He had always been sure to cover them up, not only from her but from everybody. 

 

Clegane’s steel grey eyes locked with hers, “You must be so desperate to offer yourself like this to me.” He looked her over as if awaiting a response, but when none came he continued. “A well bred Lady giving her body and her titles to the servant of another lord with only the hope of protection tied to it. I’d way we’ve hit rock bottom Lady Stark.”

 

Sansa gathered her nerves and didn’t blink while she responded. “It was my own idea. I’ve offered you nothing against my own will. This is about survival and freedom Clegane. I will not return to King’s Landing alive. I will die in the North be it by my own hand or yours.”

 

Suddenly he stood up and made his way to her. His movements were not rushed, which made Sansa feel like she was the only nervous one in the room. They stood face to face, mere inches apart in her lonely room looking at one another as if the one who turned away would lose something. “Have you even thought through what you’re asking of me woman?” His voice was low and gravily, almost a whisper.

 

She could feel the heat rolling off of him he was so close, his scent was that of spiced wood. “I’ve thought through the strategy, and I know that our combined forces and wit would make fast work of anything Cersei throws at us. I have favor amongst many of the families in the centre of Westeros. I’m sure we can solidify our control.”

 

At this the Hound grinned and slowly made his way around her. “I wasn’t thinking about the obvious little bird.” His voice was a whisper from her side, his breath hot on her ear and neck. He chuckled softly into her skin. “I was thinking about us. The only thing I like more than fighting,” he paused a moment, “... is fucking.” 

 

He was behind her now, inspecting her as if she were part of the King’s Guard. Sansa didn’t dare turn her head to follow him, but she knew his eyes raked over her curves like a dog starved. His unbridled desire for her bubbling slowly to the surface. “That’s a little known fact about me. And you know, a pretty woman like you -- a man like me -- I’d need assurances that you would uphold your wifely duties with pleasure.” 

 

Sansa couldn’t steady the pounding of her heart as he said the words. The way his tongue had rolled off the last four words had been particularly interesting. She was using sex as a way to sway him and he had turned her own tactic against her, as if he sensed a deep need within her to touch him. 

 

“Even several times a day.” He added, and she didn’t have to see him to know he had a smirk on his face.

 

A slight gasp left her opened mouth as the Hound rounded her, coming back to stand in front of her. “Would you do that for me Sansa? Would you moan soft and pretty for me while I take you?”

 

She could feel the rush of warmth coming to the apex of her thighs as he toyed with her, and she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps it was the use of her name, how direct he was with these feelings. This was wrong, she wasn’t supposed to enjoy the thought of taking her pleasure with him as often as he was describing. 

 

He continued, sensing how uncomfortable she was about the subject. “Would you spread those creamy thighs for me and take your fill? Be an insatiable, little slut for me?”

 

If he had touched her in this moment she might have moaned uncontrollably, for the feelings his words were building inside of her she could not understand. He had been right, he was no knight from her stories. But as time had passed, and she had become more in tune with the world around her, Sansa had realized that this kind of love probably didn’t exist. At least not for a woman of her station. She had been desired for her name, her lands and her influence -- the fact that she was easy on the eyes had only been a bonus. 

 

Something that nagged Sansa was the sense that she had never been truly desired by any man who she had been promised to. Joffrey would have taken any woman of noble birth his mother had chosen for him. But he had not wanted Sansa sexually -- he had barely known what to do in his own right. On the other side she had despised the act of sex with Ramsey, it had been so belittling and had often taken painful turns. He had been abusive and though such things were not unheard of even in noble circles, Sansa had felt ugly and worthless. But now, the way the man in front of her was describing it, there was a difference. An air of confidence in how he would take his pleasure and the knowledge that she would enjoy it as well. Her mind was ablaze of what he might do to her, what he might need from her, how she would please him --- immobilizing her mouth.

 

Seeing as she didn’t answer, the Hound chuckled softly and continued -- breaking his spell on her. “Besides, even if you agreed to that. What makes you think that I wouldn’t accept your little offer, take your land and titles, then hand you over to the Lannisters anyway? Seems like a huge win for me.”

 

Sansa hadn’t realized he had been take steps toward her and she was taking steps back until her bum hit the edge of a large desk in her room. It started her a little and she could see him smiling at her -- it was a devil’s grin. His predator instinct had kicked in, he could smell her fear -- and he liked it. Her hands gripped the edge of the table a moment while he bridged the gap between them. There was now, very little space between them and she would need to muster all of her courage not to allow him to intimidate her further. 

 

“You wouldn’t do that.” She managed to say, her eyes surely as wide as saucers. At this Sandor Clegane gave her a pitying expression with one eyebrow raised. The look one would give a child when they said something completely daft.

 

She persisted, “It's ridiculous to think that you could run the North without a Stark.” 

 

Indignation fell over her at the very idea he would try to do such a thing in her house, on her grounds. Sansa would not be intimidated in her own home, certainly not now. As if of its own will Sansa’s hand flew between his legs and she wrapped her fingers around his balls. The were large and weighty in her grasp, but she squeezed them tightly all the same eliciting a gasp of pain from the Hound and forcing him to bend forward.

 

She whispered her little threat sweetly into his ear, “Deceive me and I’ll be sure to mount these on my wall.” 

 

What she had done to Ramsey was known throughout Westeros. There was even a song about it, which amused her. So she knew there was weight to her words, and she did indeed mean them. Sansa would rather die than go back to King’s Landing a prisoner -- she’d risk it all for her own survival and that included marrying her enemy or disposing of him as the situation allowed. 

 

“As you should.” He whispered in her ear. It was a playful whisper, one that attempted to understate the pain he must be feeling in his testicles. Clegane admired strength, and somehow it did not surprise her that he respected her reaction to him.

 

He’d learned so far into her that she could feel the rest of his manhood slowly growing stiff on her forearm. “Know I’m not gonna be a noble lord to you.Kiss your hand or cover a puddle of mud with my cloak. I’m a hard man, a soldier and a killer.”

 

They were still locked into position, pressed against her desk in the room. “I’d rather we win this war and get on with it. I’m done with fairy tales.”

 

Clegane snorted at her words and brought one of his hands between his legs -- easing her grip on his balls. He wore a cheeky grin as he backed up, staring at her with lust filled eyes. “Take off your dress.” He said simply, taking his seat again and drinking the glass of wine he had there.

 

“What?” She asked, almost in disbelief at his boldness.

 

“Take of your dress.” He repeated, “I want to see the goods before I buy.” He laced his fingers behind his head and sat back in the chair, a toothy grin on his face. “I wasn’t born yesterday woman.” He added with a bit of cheek.

 

“You are a pig Clegane.” She spat at him, staring at him to ensure he wasn’t just playing with her.

 

He chuckled at her words and shot her a look to let her know he was waiting for the show to start. Fuming and feeling very much on display, Sansa unlaced the the front of her dress, removed the sash and shrugged it unceremoniously off of her body. There would be no show for him, not without giving her what she wanted. Though, now that she thought about it Sansa wasn’t quite sure what she had expected anyway. That still didn’t mean she wasn’t angered by his request.

 

The Hound’s eyebrow raised at the sight of her body now clad only in black silk undergarments. He sat forward now, and make the motion with his finger as if she should turn around.Throwing him a glare, Sansa did as she was bid -- with the hopes that they would soon come to an understanding.

 

A whistle passed the Hound’s lips as she turned herself around slowly, to ensure he could see everything of what she had on offer. “You are one fine woman.” He declared. “But I guess nobody ever told you that properly.”

 

Her whole life she had been told she was a pretty girl, but she had only been desired for her lands and her name, not much else. She had appreciated his words, even if she was more keen to have their business sorted. “The contract is here.” She pointed to some papers next to her on the desk. “They only need your signature.” 

 

She wasn’t going to cater to him, profess that she had been in love with him since they had met or enter a long diatribe about how she had pined for him even after she had fled from the capital. That would have been something Baelish would have told her to do -- to lie to him. The fact of the matter was -- she was out of options, ready to do almost anything if it meant keeping her enemies at bay.

 

Her straightforwardness seemed to pay off for he shifted in his seat a moment. Then he spoke, “Turn around and put your hands on the desk.” She did what she was told but wasn’t so sure why he was asking such a thing. “Bend over woman. Yeah, that’s it just like that.”

 

She felt exposed to say the least, her bum bent over to his view her hands out in front of her on the desk. She could hear him stand from the chair and his footsteps approach. “You are gutsy woman I’ll give you that.” His voice from behind her had changed somewhat. Gone was the condescending tone that had pervaded their interaction, and in its place something sweeter. “You beat me on the battlefield more times than you should have, because you’ve got grit. And I like grit.” 

 

With those words he could feel the course tips of his fingers move up the back of her leg toward her bum, slowly and deliberately -- and she knew she had won. 

 

His fingers caressed the bottom of her exposed bum and ran over the silk. His hand had a bit of a tremor, and she wondered if it was from arousal or nervousness. 

 

Sansa turned quickly, putting her hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “No touching before you buy Clegane.” 

 

At those words they shared a smile she would not soon forget. 


	4. Behind that Devil's Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gains the courage to engage the Hound on his own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So we start our slow descent into smut. Again, this is not like S&M crazy town but something I've always found intriguing about Sandor is this kind of dark "macho" side. Macho is perhaps not the best word, but I think the thought of being taken by this big, strong, rough'n tumble type is very sexy. So this is kind of filling this one side of Clegane I've wanted to play with for a bit. Hopefully you will enjoy it too ;-)

There was a grotesque edge to the Hound’s smile that should have left Sansa doubting the earnestness of his promise. She could not deny that there was something unsettling about how uneven the two sides of his face were when he smiled, as if light and dark were fighting for eternal control over his features. In Clegane’s case however, the sides of light and dark were relative -- more like a battle between wicked and fiendish -- in the end the Devil won all the same. Despite her screaming instincts, Sansa kept her eyes fixed on his -- daring the Hound to make the next move. A deal with the devil himself had been made, but at least it was on her terms. What would happen next had not crossed her mind. It wasn’t clear at this early stage if the hard part was over, or only just starting. 

 

Clegane cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if observing her from a different angle would give him greater insight into her mind. There were some seconds where she was almost certain he would kiss her, for she detected an ever so slight movement of his head before his wits got the better of him. Instead his eyes shifted to the papers on the desk, a hand reaching out to seperate them so that he could read them better in the dim light. Their bodies were uncomfortably, if not titillatingly, close. Sansa noted how he didn’t have to move to reach the contracts as she would have. The length of his arms, hands and fingers bridged the gap with minimal effort. 

 

Sansa couldn’t help but be captivated by the movements of his eyes as they flew over the carefully prepared text of the marriage contract. They were quite beautiful in the light of the fire, which was not something she had anticipated. As a younger woman she would have paid more attention to the physical characteristics of her husband-to-be. There would have been a preoccupation with youth, beauty and wealth. 

 

_ ‘How quickly things change.’ _ She said to herself. 

 

Of all the things that had happened to her over the years, this realization was one she welcomed. Her Septa had always read her fables, stories that taught some sort of moral lesson, as a child. Some of these focused on the importance of inner over outer beauty. Of course Sansa had recited them beautifully, knew them backwards and forwards. Yet she had laughed at the real meaning, paid it little heed. Now she was paying for her preoccupation with beauty, having had this one fixation lead her down a road that had started with her being promised to a King, lead to her marriage to a psychotic Bastard and was ending as a gift to Sandor Clegane. 

 

No matter what, Sansa could not despair. She had to focus on what mattered most -- what was worth saving. For she knew that when you are stripped of everything dear to you, when you are backed against a wall without any way out -- even a wolf would gnaw off its own leg to protect itself and its pack. It was a bittersweet moment, for she was doing what she was bred to do -- offer her body, power and womb to secure an alliance. There should be no shame in it, for every family with a standing such as hers made arrangements for their children -- sometimes even before birth. 

 

As a child, even as a young woman, she had romanticized this act. She had seen marriage as the moment that would define her as a woman, set the course of her life until the Stranger took her. Now she saw the world for what it really was. Love was not hers to have -- had she been low born or a bastard, perhaps it would have been different. But no one, of course, had ever told her this. Not her family, her friends -- everybody had allowed her to believe this lie until it had been too late. After all she had been through, she knew marriage would not define her -- but neither would love. She was giving herself to the enemy because it made sense, because it was the smartest thing to do given the circumstances, because -- for some stupid reason -- she trusted Sandor Clegane despite his devil’s smile. 

 

His eyes darted to hers quickly and he grinned. “Seems you’ve thought of everything. Even the names of our children.” 

 

She knew what he was referring to, her desire to maintain the name of Stark. “In the North it has happened more than once in the last thousand years that…”

 

Clegane cut her off, his low voice silencing the room. “I never had much love for my family anyway.”

 

At that he made his mark on both copies of the contract and looked at her as if to ask her if there was something he had missed. 

 

Relief swept over Sansa at this, it was over -- the hardest part behind her. “I’ll make arrangements for a wedding in the God’s Wood…”

 

“Make all the arrangements you want, but I intend to consummate now.” His words were firm and crystal clear forcing a still in the room and making her blink several times just to process their meaning. 

 

Sansa had prepared herself for the eventualities of the evening, even down to this -- but that still didn’t mean she was ready for it. A part of her had hoped that Clegane would have some shred of decency, and wait to have her only once the marriage was complete in either the eyes of the Seven or the Old Gods. Yet his tone left no room for argument, no space to finagle. Even if he had been completely silent, his eyes would have told her everything -- his need, his passion -- the very depth of his desire to take her now. And it was this, much as she had feared, that played to the other part of her. The part of her that had a primal urge to be fucked by such a man. Sandor Clegane would never be refined, polite or gentile -- he could only ever be what he was. A man rough and unyielding. Much like the look he was giving her now. She sucked in some breath to sooth the tension in her body. It was arousing to be desired in such a way, she would be lying to herself to deny it. 

 

_ ‘But is it not our own abilities to deny our instinct that make us different from beasts?’ _ The thought rang in her mind.

 

She needed to stop him before her own urges bubbled to the surface, “But you…” Sansa didn’t get three words out of her mouth before she felt him take her by the hips roughly and turn her back toward the desk as she had been before. There was a gentle firmness to his movements -- it was remarkable given what she had seen him do on the battlefield. 

 

Sansa’s upper thighs pressed hard into the edge of the desk painfully, her breasts pushed against the top of the wood as his hand bent her over to his desired angle. Panic rose in Sansa’s throat. She wanted to scream but nothing came out, flashes of Ramsey’s evil deeds running through her head. It made her grip the far end of the desk hard with her hands, shutting her eyes a moment to calm her raging mind. 

 

It was the gentle caress of his hands over her back and the backs of her legs that woke her from her fears. He was murmuring something in the darkness to her, something low and tender. But Sansa could only hear the final part of his sentence.

 

“.....such strong legs too. It’s not hard to see you like to ride.” Clegane’s voice held such a reverence for her body, that she had to take in another breath just to understand what was going on. 

 

The Hound’s fingers spent extra time going over her bum, enjoying the feeling of the fabric on his battle worn finger tips. “You are the only woman, who ever really turned my head. Did you know that?”

 

She couldn’t be sure if he was talking to her really, or saying these things out loud to himself. Either way it had the strange effect of calming her. For as rough as everything had started, and as much as her legs still hurt from how he had pinned her to the desk, he seemed to be taking his time. It was wrong to do this before the wedding was official, it went against her traditions -- and yet she found her senses heightened and her body wanting more. His hand made hard contact with the back of her leg, making her yelp in surprise -- his palm warm on her skin as he spanked her firmly there. 

 

“Fucking gorgeous.” He sighed, the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor along with his pants  not going unnoticed. 

 

It was her last chance to tell him to wait, to stop this wildly out of control horse-drawn carriage before it careened off the ledge. It was obvious what he was doing, to engage in their married duties now would ensure she could not back out of the contract. There would have to be a witness of course, somebody who could vouch for the bedding. 

 

_ ‘Of course he knows.’  _ Sansa shook her head to herself. He knew Lady Brienne was her Sworn Sword and had probably been thinking two steps ahead of even Sansa -- in assuming she would be stationed outside of her door. He was more astute than she gave him credit for, something she begrudgingly enjoyed.

 

His long thick fingers slid her silken panties to the side, and she brought her head up from the table to look back at him. If he had noticed her posture had changed, Clegane paid it no mind for his eyes were fixated on her bum and her slowly moistening lips now open to his view. She couldn’t see much of his own body, for his tunic covered his chest and manhood, but she could see how tented the bottom of his shirt was from his bulging manhood. A couple of satisfied grunts passed his lips as he slid his cock past her pussy and up toward the front of her underwear, pinning itself between her nest of red curls and her silk -- she let out a yelp and flinched instinctively at his swift motion. Thinking he would sheath himself immediately.

 

Clegane’s voice came in her right ear, his fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. “Easy woman.” He whispered as if calming a wild animal, “This is the first time we’ll be together and I want us to enjoy it.” With that he began to nibble her ear -- and she knew she had lost the battle against her baser instincts. 

 

His lips were warm against her head, his teeth playful as the pulled and nibbled at her earlobes. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and it was a mix of both calm and excited -- even with a slight gasp from time to time. His left hand was flat on the desk, giving him some balance. The hand that had moved her hair had traveled down her back, cupped her breast with a firm squeeze and moved down below her belly button to press his cock eve more firmly against her woman’s place. 

 

“You had to wear silk you little minx?” He mumbled in her ear as his enormous manhood slid over her slit from behind, priming her for sex. 

 

Sansa moaned at this, for it was only now that she could really focus her mind on what was going on between her legs. His penis was long, thick and curved upward -- his stiff head pressing against her clit. With every thrust she could feel the tip of his steel length massaging her most sensitive parts. It was making her wetter than she could have ever imagined. The sounds of his penis sliding within her panties to her own wetness slowly and very quietly began to fill the room. 

 

“Gods Clegane.” Was the only thing she could say, but even then it was only a low growl. As if she didn’t want it to escape her lips.

 

Snorting at her words, she could feel him settling his hands on her hips and raking her lower body over his ample length. He was dragging her across it shamelessly, getting even more turned on the louder and wetter the sounds became. Without really knowing why, Sansa reached between her legs so as to better feel his cock moving from behind her. There were no words to truly describe the feelings the Hound was unleashing inside of her -- wanton, lustful, immodest would have been the closest. At any rate, her desire to fall in line with tradition was waning, making way for her to forge something new and different. A partnership with a man who was not meant for her, in a time of war that was never supposed to have happen.

 

Easily picking up her right leg, he settled her knee on the desk continuing his thrusting but separating the cheeks of her bum to the point where she could feel them pulling apart from the middle. His hands were strong, for he gripped her cheeks firmly, one in each hand, “Umm humm this is gonna be so fucking good.” He mumbled, clearly taken with her backside.

 

Very suddenly he pulled his cock away and turned her around to face him, resting his heavy slickened manhood on her thigh and stomach. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was the speed of what he did, or just the fact that Ramsey would have done something mean to her right now -- but she flinched away as they faced each other -- her hands up guarding her face. At this he stopped  and brought a hand around her barrier to her cheek. As she realized he wasn’t going to hit her, Sansa slowly lowered her hands.

 

Their eyes met. But there was silence for a long while as Clegane studied her face.

 

“Bolton’s bastard was cruel to you wasn’t he?” It was a question, but he said it more as a statement. He was studying her, picking apart her emotions without her leave. It was an incredibly disarming stare.

 

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with…” Sansa’s voice trailed off, for she didn’t have anything else to say. All of her energy was being put into fighting back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

 

He waited for her to focus on him again before speaking. “I intend to take you every way a man can.”

 

His words didn’t make her feel any better, quite the contrary given the size of his manhood, it almost seemed to be a threat.

 

The Hound continued his worn finger leaving a warm trail down her face, “But not because _ I _ want to…” He leaned in and this time he kissed her, long and deep pressing her body mercilessly into his own -- his heavy cock pressing like hard steel against her soft skin. 

 

“...but because you want me to.” There was a knowing smile on his face when he said it, as if he were supremely confident in his abilities. 

 

Certainly he had a plan for how this night would go. She had fought him too long to expect anything different. Gathering herself, Sansa couldn’t help but smile at his words. There was an honesty to them, a simplicity in emotion and tone that put her at ease. It reminded her of who she was dealing with. The Hound was not one to play the games Lord Baelish or Cersei played. He was not sadistic like Ramsey had been. His were as cut and dry as the battlefield, where life and death were the only things that mattered. There were no shades of grey, no varying degrees of evil. The Hound was a man of his word and in this moment, he was trying to tell her he was neither a rapist nor a sadist. His own peculiar way of calming her, and somehow, it did have that effect on her. 

 

Her confidence somewhat reinstilled, Sansa smiled and looked between them -- her eye glimpsing his erection for the first time. His manhood was rather lovely, and extremely lust inspiring. There were no other words to describe it other than perfect. It had both length and girth, and she knew just from looking at it that he would not have a hard time filling her. His foreskin pulled back from their intense rubbing, his head was engorged and rounded, larger than the shaft and smooth. Subconsciously she brought her hands to the bottom of his tunic -- her instincts wanting to see more of the man who would take her this night. Chuckling, Clegane did the rest, pulling the bit of cloth over his head so she could observe him fully.

 

_ ‘Gods he’s powerful.’  _ Was the only thing she could think of while her eyes literally gulped in his utter perfection. Clegane’s naked form was much more comely than anything she could have imagined for herself -- the curves of his muscles called out to her fingertips, the thick curly hair carpeting his chest made the apex of her thighs wetter than before. Using this moment between them, Sansa took his wrist and began to pull the monster of a man to her bed. He followed with no hesitation, keeping a step or two between them. Crawling onto the bed, Sansa made sure she was on all fours, her silken covered backside to him, as she looked over her shoulder at him. It wasn’t hard to see that he liked her backside, the expression on his face might have been akin to worshiping it if she had to say it. With a devilish little grin she bid him come to her, an invitation to take her much like his namesake.

 

Smiling the Hound bit down on his bottom lip a moment, his cock appearing even longer and stiffer than it had been only moments before. “Stay just like that.” 

 

His hand slid teasingly over his cock, massaging the large organ as he played something through in his head. Sansa couldn’t be sure what it was, though she could see his mind was racing through his beautiful grey eyes. When he was finished, a smile spread across his marred face. Not knowing exactly what was behind that devil’s smile made Sansa’s nipples stiffen in anticipation, her core pulse at the pure thought of taking him inside of her. 

 


	5. Fuelling the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wants to seal their alliance, but a minor bump in the road threatens to keep Sandor from fulfilling this husbandly duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to everyone! I hope you had a nice time ringing it in!

#  Chapter 5: Fuelling the Fire

 

She didn’t quite know what to do, much less what to expect when she heard Sandor’s words come roughly from his throat. Sansa had no way of knowing what was going on behind his lust filled eyes, only that she was giving Sandor Clegane exactly what he wanted. Though her view might not have been the best given she was on all fours looking over her shoulder at him, that didn’t completely obscure her view of what he was doing. He was stroking himself casually, his manhood large in his huge rough hands. The firelight illuminated it perfectly, revealing every rounded smooth surface and every ridge. It was glistening at the tip, a sign he was eager to to take her. But the Hound himself was in no rush to claim the prize that was so readily offered to him, content to take in the view a little while longer. 

 

Sansa thought back to his words, spoken only some moments before. How she had been the only woman to ever really turn his head. How she was strong and beautiful -- and she could see he spoke the truth. They were not phrases meant to inspire love in her, they were not meant to woo her so as to place him in her good graces. The Hound’s words, spoken in a moment of deep physical intimacy, were honest, pure and simple. There was an element of relief in that -- in knowing she was giving him what he wanted and hoping he would reciprocate ,should he be pleased with the outcome. They were almost there, their pact nearly sealed. Signing the contract, now soon to consummate their union -- the only thing left was to publicly exchange vows. It was indeed the most frivolous part of the agreement, the most administrative. It would be this act that would cement their bond. It would be these moments that would set the stage for their partnership, as she preferred to call it.

 

Advancing toward her, Sansa felt a mix of fear and anticipation as Sandor neared her. He had promised not to hurt her, but that hadn’t chased all of her demons away. It was when he dropped to his knees, however, that she had cause for confusion. She had taken part in many a deviant sexual act in her first marriage -- but she could not for the life of her understand what he was about to do. 

 

There was no need to wait long for an answer, her underwear the first thing to be ripped from her body. The thin piece of silken fabric never stood a chance against the Hound. Sansa didn’t even have the presence of mind to yelp at his swiftness, for it had happened so quickly and cleanly she almost wouldn’t have noticed it -- save for seeing the scrap of fabric being tossed to the side. His mouth then quickly replaced what the fabric had been covering, his warm hot breath and the slickness of his tongue invading her most intimate folds with all the vigour she would expect from a man like Sandor Clegane. 

 

Of course she squealed and gripped the sheets in an attempt to stay where she was. For he was pulling her such that her knees were now over his shoulders and his lips and nose were literally buried as deeply as they possibly could be in her backside. Her first instinct was to fight this monster, who sought to pull her off the bed and quite literally devour her, using all of the might in her thighs to squeeze her legs together in order to protect whatever last shred of modesty she had. But then her body overtook her emotions, calmed her from the raging storm within. The Hound was strong, with the ability to force her into any position or sexual act he desired. Yet he was not using his strength to harm her -- though it had certainly seemed and felt like that on the surface. In fact, he was pleasuring her. Sansa’s body was not as quick as her mind in reaction, but it was often the slower steadier mount that won the race -- she could see that now.

 

The sounds escaping his lips were those of a connoisseur who had found the choicest meat for a feast. The Hound’s lapping tongue punctuated by approving “mmms”, “uhhs”, and “fucks” that made Sansa understand that whatever he was tasting down there -- he enjoyed it very much. Even if she were to wiggle or move forward in an attempt to balance herself, he would pull her vagina back to his hungry lips -- seemingly fit to suffocate between her legs instead of let his lips be even an inch away from the object of his primal hunger. 

 

Clegane’s tongue, as far as she could judge, was as coordinated and precise as his hands were in battle. For he used it for everything from penetrating her woman’s place, to licking between her gentle folds, to flicking the ever more sensitive spot above her woman’s place with such voracity that she began to cry out. Sansa had never felt anything like this before, though she was far from being a maiden. The warrior’s tongue sent shockwaves through her body, built up a burning desire inside of her that she had always hoped was there but had never truly experienced before now. She found herself using her arms to push into his face further, and was rewarded with a firm smack on her bum. 

 

To be perfectly frank, Sansa had not realized how loud she was screaming her utter pleasure and how aroused he had been making her. To her, they were in their own little world, where only the two of them existed -- nothing more. It was when the door swung open unbid and the sound of a sword being unsheathed hit her ears that Sansa realized they were not really alone in the castle. 

 

Clegane had moved faster than his size should have allowed him. Grabbing a stool in one hand he turned toward the door, his back now to the bed and Sansa to face whatever threat might be coming toward them. It was a protective gesture, she could see that right away as every hair on his body stood on end, the tensing of his muscles in his back, bum and legs all flexed as much as possible -- ready to release into untold physical violence at a moment’s notice.

 

The room was tense, Sansa didn’t need to face the door to know that. Sandor’s voice breaking the silence was at least one step toward releasing the pressure building inside these walls. “Well well, Brienne of fucking Tarth.” This was all Sansa needed to hear from the Hound’s lips to know who had entered the room. 

 

Her Sword Sword, a maiden herself, had heard the noises coming from the room and feared the worst. Sansa turned in the bed, able to see Brienne’s face though the Hound stood defiantly between them. The stool still in hand, as if it were a cleaver ready to hack the woman in front of him to death if necessary. He cared little for his nudity or even the state of his large manhood, the shadow it cast only served to make it seem larger than before.

 

“I know it could be mistaken as such,” Sansa saw him look toward his erection that was jutting out straight and heavily from between his muscular legs. “But you’ve just pulled your sword on an unarmed man. I suggest you stand down, before this gets ugly.”

 

Though his weapon in hand was weaker, Sansa detected no fear in his voice -- no sense of concern when it came to fighting Brienne with mere wood and fabric. Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat, for she could not take more violence in this war. If she didn’t do something one or both of them could end up dead here and now -- all of her work and planning would have been for naught. She needed this marriage, she needed Clegane alive, strong and whole -- and she needed his seed to seal the deal. 

 

“The Lady Stark tastes as sweet as a late summer’s mead.” Sansa could hear the Hound licking his lips for emphasis. “You’ll see not a scratch on her perfect skin.” He was taunting Lady Brienne of course, and Sansa wasn’t sure why he despised her so -- but she could hear it rolling off his every word.

 

Raising to her knees on the bed, so as to get a better vantage point, Sansa’s eyes met Brienne’s. She could see the young warrior’s disgust with the whole situation as well as her uncertainty about what to do next. To her Clegane was nothing but a lower lord who should have been a peasant. A pig of a man who had no right enjoying Sansa’s favor. In many ways Brienne was certainly right, but sometimes you had to deal with those you found unsavory in order to get what you desired -- both in love and in war, they were both so similar anyway. It would be a lesson for her young Sworn Sword to learn, even if it was the hard way. 

 

Bringing up a hand softly, Sansa made a motion that indicated to Brienne to put the sword down. Sansa was far from being in any danger, even if her screams of pleasure could have been mistaken for something else. 

 

The Hound chuckled as Brienne slowly sheathed her sword, not once taking her eyes off of him. Sansa could understand why. Sandor Clegane was a killing machine pure and simple, his body and the huge frame into which it was woven was a testament to that. Even naked with a stool in his hand as a weapon he was menacing. His muscular ass jutting out from his legs, his well used back broad and strong. Sansa needed a man like this, one who showed no fear one whose confidence in his own abilities lead him to victory. She needed it, even if he would be difficult to contain. It was a brave thing to draw a sword on the Hound, Sansa would not have needed to see him in battle to know that. But it was perhaps an even braver act to bare the brunt of his sexual urges - to share an intimacy with him as his wife. 

 

“Take a good look at it woman.” The Hound continued to taunt the female warrior in front of him, “That’s what a real man has between his legs -- a real warrior. But when you pretend to have a cock, you can imagine mine. I won’t take offense.”

 

“Sandor that’s enough.” Sansa was still on her knees on the bed, putting her about at level height with the Hound. She had stretched her hand out to touch his shoulder, but it was the use of his first name that had pulled his head slightly in her direction. His instincts would not allow him to let Brienne out of his sight, but Sansa’s words had been useful in diffusing the tension that he was spurring on. 

 

“Brienne is my Sworn Sword and you will treat her with respect.” There was a harsh tone to Sansa’s words, as if she were disciplining a poorly behaved dog. She used her hand to bring him a step backwards then to seat him in the bed. He did so obediently, much to her surprise. Sansa was behind him, wrapping an arm around his large torso and bringing her lips to his ear. She needed to calm him, and fast.

 

The two warriors were still eyeing one another, a sort of glare that Sansa knew could ignite quickly with proper mix of fire and fuel. 

 

“You have me now.” Sandor began, never taking his eyes of Brienne. “You’ll have no need of a Sworn Sword.”

 

“And when you are on on campaign? Surely I’ll need protection in your absence.” Sansa countered in his ear, being sure to press her breasts against his large sculpted back.

 

Releasing the stool, he brought his hand to hers on his chest and rubbed it affectionately. “You’re coming with me. The reconquering of the North is to be a Stark affair.”

 

Sansa couldn’t help but grin at his comment, though she detested the thought of living in a war camp. It left her little to argue with. But she still needed to counter him all the same. 

 

“And when you are in the vanguard? You don’t expect me to ride into combat as you do. Among other things I lack your strength and size.” She nuzzled his neck and could feel his body relaxing in her grasp, her appeal to his masculinity succeeding. 

 

Sansa looked at Brienne again and shifted her eyes to the contracts. Her Sworn Sword nodded, rolled them up and made for the door. 

 

“I wouldn’t send those right away.” The Hound said before Brienne could leave, “We’ll need a day or two to align our forces. Better not to give the Lannisters a head start.”

 

Sansa nodded from behind him and gave Brienne a look as though she should probably leave. There was no point in her seeing anymore of this, and no way she could not attest to the their bedding. Not wanting to wait for the door to shut, Sansa did her best to bring his focus back to the task at hand. Snaking around him, so as to straddle him, Sansa dragged her fingers across Sandor’s hairy chest. 

 

“Now weren't we in the middle of something my Lord?” She said it teasingly, with the hope that he would finally focus on her and finish his husbandly duties. 

 

“Oh it’s my Lord now is it?” He said it with a grin on his face as he slid her even further down his lap. She heard the door shut, and knew the moment had passed.

 

Not to be outdone, Sansa reached between them placing his cock at her entrance and gently began to move her hips over him. That elicited quite a grunt of satisfaction from the Hound, who gave one of her nipples a cursory suck before laying back on his elbows -- so as to take her in fully. 

 

“I told you you’d want it you little beast. Now you had bloody well better finish what you started.” There was a smugness to his words that should have repulsed her, but it was his roguish grin and hint of playfulness that made her body beg to have him inside of her. 

 

She had no concerns about her the amount of arousal that slickened her folds, he had seen to that earlier -- the more lingering question was if she was ready to do this. Sansa didn’t have a choice really, but there would be no backing out once his seed was buried within her -- their alliance sealed with the joining of their Houses in blood and contract. Sansa looked down at his face, studying it for a moment longer. He was not in love, that was rather obvious even to her. Still she could see something there that was perhaps even rarer than love -- respect tempered with an animalistic lust that made her nipples perk in arousal. It was perhaps not what she had hoped as a girl, but it would do for her as a woman.

 

She began to slowly and painstakingly impale herself on his bulging manhood. Sansa had to use his knees in order to steady herself and take it slowly. For simply sitting on it would have been excruciatingly painful. Aside from that, he seemed to get quite a joy from watching her struggle to take him. Of course he had probably known it would be a challenge from the beginning, nevertheless it was a pleasurable sort of labor, the head of his cock was large and bulbous. She could feel her body expanding for its tip and then closing tightly around his shaft -- the continued expansion and contraction felt amazing. Sansa took it slow and easy, but that didn’t stop the fact that she knew her body was stretching to its utter limits. As she finally took him all the way to his base, she could feel the tip if his penis hit her womb pushing it up to make more space. It made her moan, in that primal way a female does when she knows she’s being taken by the strongest and most dominant male of the pack. 

 

Sansa stole a glance at Clegane’s face. He was pleased as punch, those were the only words that really described the look on his face -- both boyish and naughty all at the same time. When she began to rock back and forth, gauging how much she could move given his size, his eyes rolled back into his head -- and Sansa knew that for him the deal was done.That even if he had not intended to follow through with it all the way, now he would not back out even if he wanted to. But she also knew that their night together was far from over and that fuelled a fire in her she had thought long dead.


	6. Gratification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's smut o'clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on improving / playing with dirty talk. I really love it when I read other fanfiction I have to say. There is something about knowing this kind of purposeful whispering, threatening and doing that helps me fire on all cylinders. this kind of my first attempt, so let's see how it goes!
> 
> The epilogue comes after this ;-)

#  Chapter 6: Gratification

 

Sansa closed her eyes as she found her rhythm astride the mighty warrior beneath her. Her eyes were not closed so as to keep Sandor out, or to get around looking at him while she found her pleasure. She did it in order to heighten her pleasure, to fully embrace the physical gratification she could get from a man like Clegane. It was his girth that was the most immediately noticeable, the way it spread her open touching her inner walls all at once. Though the head of his penis was clearing the way for the rest of him, it was the distinct ridges of the head as it widened, then thinned that were the most pleasing at this stage. Her body was opening in a way she had not experienced before, to a man she never thought she would have -- and it lit her soul on fire.  

 

Bottoming out on him had its own delectable sensations, that she could not deny. The hardness of his manhood made her whimper, the feeling of it pressing deep inside of her made her moan. She smirked realizing that Clegane’s cock was not so different from the man himself. It was both large and intimidating -- somehow also brash. His thick flesh demanded attention, commanded a kind of obedience that she found herself, against her better instincts, wanting to give it. His manhood was unapologetic as it directed her to bury it between her willing lips over and over again. Sansa had never felt like such a woman before, for she had certainly never controlled her own sexuality ever -- until this night. Perhaps the most surprising to her was, despite all outward appearances, the Hound seemed rather content to give her this freedom.

 

At this point Sansa opened her eyes and focused on the the man in front of her. He had since brought two pillows to prop up us head, and was resting his hands behind it. Sandor’s feet were still on the ground, but his hips were far enough from the edge of the bed that it afforded Sansa the necessary amount of room she would need to move. That didn’t mean balancing atop of him was easy, but it was through some sheer act of the gods that she stayed upright. Then she used her supple thighs to move up and down his large manhood, the sound of her riding him filling the air between them. There was such a firmness to him Sansa wanted to reach out and touch his chest, lace her fingers into his thick chest hair and feel him further. But she stopped herself, content instead to rest her hands on his enormous thighs behind her -- his own moans of pleasure punctuating the slapping sound of their bodies. 

 

She did remove her bra at some point, an appreciated grin passed her partner’s lips. There was no denying how she enjoyed the feeling of her own breasts bouncing up and down while she worked herself astride his most precious body part. In the end, it would be a combination of all these things that would lead her to a release. This perfect storm of how deep he was filling her, mixed with the pressure of his muscled abs against her clit and now, the delectable feeling of his rough fingertips running over her nipples. Sansa liked seeing a smile on his face, loved knowing it was she who was putting it there. 

 

Before she even realized what was happening, Sansa was thrown off balance. Falling to her side only to be snatched up by a strong arm and pushed further up the bed -- her back now on the feather mattress. 

 

“Only a green boy would spill his seed too early.” Sandor whispered in her ear, removing his cock from her. 

 

The look on her face must have been one of disappointment for he laughed almost condescendingly, filling her suddenly empty heat with three fingers from his sword hand. Wincing slightly at force with which he had entered her again, Sansa was surprised and how readily her body accepted them. What caught her even more off guard, was how dexterous they were inside of her. Lifting the middle of her back off of the bed she moaned so loudly, she was almost sure that Brienne would enter the room again. Luckily she did not.

 

Looking up at the great warrior, now on his knees next to her on the bed, Sansa couldn’t really see his face. The dim light of the room, and the fact that his back was to the fire, made it nearly impossible. It mattered little as the sound of his breathing and the flexing of his muscles were all she really needed to know if he was pleased with what she was doing. Sandor took her closest hand and wrapped it around the base of his cock tightly. She began to tug at it and found that as his fingers curled, pressed and moved inside of her with an increased voracity, so did the way she handled his manhood. 

 

Sandor’s next words were through gritted teeth, “Oh you fucking cheeky little…” they trailed off before he could finish his sentence. Sansa wondered if that was his way of being polite, not calling her something that might offend her -- even in the throws of passion. Needless to say, she could feel him fingering her with such strength, she hoped he would not somehow injure her. 

 

Her fears were quickly replaced by need for Sansa’s body was on fire, every part of it burned with the blazing flame of arousal. The likes of which she certainly had never experienced before, but hoped to have much more often. Stealing a moment, Sansa took a nice good look at his penis. She nearly giggled, for somehow it seemed so bad to do so -- yet so right. It was a very handsome piece he had between his legs, though Sansa had not seen many in her lifetime, she had spoken with enough married women to get a good idea of what could be expected. But the Hound’s was different. It was not oddly shaped,or too short, or at all soft. Instead it felt very much like the rest of him, firm, strong and ready for the sort of battle they were currently engaged in. Reaching between his legs further, she was happy to feel only a light dusting of hair on his balls. They were large and heavy, as one might expect, but oddly not as hairy as the rest of him. His cock was, quite perfect if she could say so. Long and wide, curved upward -- a nearly perfect fit. 

 

Turning her attentions back to his fingers, Sansa was doing her best not to press her thighs too tightly together. Sandor was curling his fingers inside of her, hitting a spot she had never known even existed and, as such, making her squeal in the most unladylike of ways. He seemed to know what he was doing for she could hear him mumbling things like, “That’s right,” or “Fuck my hand princess.” She tried not to pay too much heed to his vulgar language, and it wasn’t so hard given how he was making her feel. She could peak with his hand, she knew it for her breathing was starting to change, her hips forcing themselves harder and faster on his long thick fingers. The rhythm she needed was there, now it was only a matter of time before she would explode with sexual pleasure.

 

“Tell me how much you want it.” She heard Sandor’s voice through the near darkness challenge her. 

 

This pulled her from her mind and made her focus on him, though she could not see the expression on his face.

 

“I wanna hear from those pretty little lips how much you want me to fuck you.” His voice was low and gravely, a little above a whisper but only just. 

 

With that he withdrew his fingers calmly, leaving a void in her that was surprisingly unbearable. Sansa wasn’t sure what he wanted exactly, concern quickly replacing joy at the sudden change in his demeanor. 

 

“I want you.” She said somewhat mechanically, not knowing what to do to appease the beast of a man she was now sharing her bed with.

 

Laughing, Clegane moved between his legs, the fire light revealing the features on the burned side of his face. It was scary to Sansa how ghastly they could be given the right light and setting. His eye looked over her body as he slicked the head of his penis with her thick juices still on his sword hand. 

 

“You’ll have to do better than that.” He taunted. 

 

An angry flush crept into Sansa’s cheeks at the thought that he was putting everything in jeopardy by being purposefully cryptic with his wants.  Through gritted teeth she responded, “I want you so much, please.”

 

At this he laughed long and hard, “Even when you’re getting fucked you still don’t forget your courtesies. I’m honored.” There was a look on his face, one Sansa couldn’t describe it it made it clear to her she needed to get this little game right -- or he might still end their little agreement before it even began. “Try again little one, third time’s a charm.”

 

Sansa’s mind was racing. She had to do something or all of this careful planning, and this gamble, would be for naught. Swallowing nervously, she pulled out the only thing she had left to dangle at him. Sitting up and placing her hand on his chest, she looked the Hound straight in the eye, “I’ll give you what you want, but first I want you to tell me how close I came in King’s Landing.”

 

Sitting back on his heels a moment, Sandor cocked his head to the side and eyed her intently. She could see he was judging how much she knew and if she was bluffing. In a way she was of course, unsure as to how much he had desired her while they were together in King’s Landing. Though he had admitted it in so many words to her earlier in the evening that she had turned his head. 

 

“Oh don’t act daft Clegane. I might have been young but I still noticed the way you looked at me.” Sansa slowly dragged her hand down his chest, feeling each of his rippling muscles as she did so. “I need to hear how close I came. Then I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

 

In truth she hoped that him recounting his lustful thoughts about her in King’s Landing might give her an idea of what he wanted to hear from her lips. For though she was far from a maid, she was also far from any normal sort of sexual exchange between people -- still learning.

 

It was tense as he considered her words a moment, then he grinned. “Deal.” He said simply, bringing his large body on top of hers and lining up his cock with her needy cunt. 

 

The moment he pushed inside of her, Sansa gripped his back hard with both hands -- surly leaving marks on him. Nuzzling her neck he started to speak, “So you wanna know how close you came to getting fucked bloody in King’s Landing huh?”

 

“Yes.” She breathed, relieved to have his full length inside of her once again.

 

Sandor took one of her legs and put it over his hip, then he started nailing her to the bed. His thrusts were forceful and precise, making her yelp with unbridled desire every time her back hit the mattress. 

 

“It’s not easy watching a woman like you day in and day out. Those tits and that gorgeous ass.” He was breathing heavily but kept going. “Some nights when I’d take you to your room before bed, I’d consider pushing you inside, locking the door and fucking you bloody.” At this Sansa moaned so wantonly, she almost felt ashamed. Almost.

 

“Cover your mouth with my hand so nobody would hear, then pound you into the bed you’d see fucking stars woman. Be your first.” Sandor’s voice was so low and deep, having the most amazing effect on her. At every word and nearly every syllable she found herself gripping his back harder, digging her nails in deeper, pressing her hips even more tightly into his. 

 

The Hound chuckled softly at her physical responses to him and kept going. “But that night we kissed, you got real lucky. I was just a heartbeat away from ripping off your little panties and shoving this big...,” 

 

She was going to come, she could feel it in her core. His words, his roughness, the way he was nibbling at her ears and neck. Sansa knew she would literally explode.

 

“...hard cock between those little virgin lips.” At this Sansa saw stars, her eyes closed shut, and her body literally convulsed and exploded around him. She was nearly afraid she wouldn’t get enough air, the feeling was so strong in her body. His sweaty body in her grasp was the only thing grounding her to reality, that and the fact that he was still moving huge manhood inside of her. 

 

As her orgasim slowly subsided, and the sounds and smells of the room flooded back to her, Sansa smiled. She had not only enjoyed her first sexual release during intercourse, but she also know knew what he so desired from her. It wasn’t so different from what she had wanted to hear from him -- to know she had been coveted. To hear his rough voice tell her all the things she had known in her gut, and feared, in that time. Now it was no longer scary extremely sensual and even more satisfying.

 

She kissed him then. Though he didn’t break his thrusting rhythm, she could tell he was surprised by her gesture. Sansa took a moment to feel his body, having her hands pass from the back of his shoulders down to his waist. Then she spoke, “It was when you fought your brother at the Tournament of the Hand, when I first noticed you.”

 

Sandor grunted at this, raising up on his elbows and shooting her curious look. Smirking at him, Sansa ran a hand down his chest and continued. “I began to wonder what you might be like without your armor, and your clothes.”

 

That seemed to start him going, for he grinned and began to drive himself deeper inside of her. “After you saved me in the bread riots I had begun to wonder what it might be like to thank you with my … my…,” It was so hard to say these words for Sansa, these vulgar words that he said so readily only moments before. Vulgar words that had inspired so much passion within her. But she knew she had to say them, she knew she must if she was going to please Clegane. Sansa moaned a bit to cover up her stumble, then wrapped her legs more tightly around Sandor’s hips. “...to thank you with my pussy.” 

 

“You thankless little slut.” He teased lovingly into her ear, his voice heady and labored. 

 

It felt good to let it out, to release all of these strange feelings she had harbored for Sandor Clegane all these years. It felt against her upbringing to tell him about her desire, yet what she was doing -- this whole situation -- was against her upbringing. So Sansa threw caution to the wind.

 

“Then when we kissed, I had  hoped you wouldn’t stop. I would have begged you not to stop if we had not been startled. I had no love for the King by then. I just wanted to feel a big, strong, real man inside me.” She was going to come again, even just the comparison of the two men was enough to excite her. Sansa could feel her release coming, see it on the very near horizon. “Oh gods don’t stop fucking me!!” She managed to gasp out between Clegane’s pointed thrusts.

 

Her last words pushed him over the edge for sure, if he had not been already on his way. There was something beautiful about his passion, how tightly he held her hips to his, how furrowed his brow got during his immense physical exertion. Sansa could feel him releasing inside of her, his cock pulsating as his hot seed shot into her womb. She couldn’t help but squeeze his bum, it was rock hard and tense while he tensed - pushing the last bits of come inside of her. She could see now why he enjoyed sex as much as he enjoyed fighting, in the end there wasn’t a huge difference -- not the way he did it anyway. 

 

It was done, their union sealed. Though Sansa had hoped they would share something tonight, she had not expected it to come in the form it had. Secretly she wasn’t complaining either. Sandor rolled off of her and took some deep breaths -- it seemed he was equally as satisfied with the night’s event, and that was a good thing. Reaching her hand between her legs Sansa felt his seed, thick and plentiful, inside of her woman’s place and smiled. If they were to be intimate as often as he claimed, he would sire in due course. The Starks would, against all odds, continue. Her line would live on, that was the biggest relief of all.

 

Then Sandor stood up and went to gather his pants and boots. Pulling a fur over her body for warmth, Sansa sat up, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

 

If he had wanted to make her feel like a common tavern whore, he was very close to achieving it. Sandor shot her a roguish grin and pulled his pants over his hips. “I’m headed down to my men, we need to talk.”

 

“At this time of night?” She was almost indigent. 

 

“Well if I don’t show up before dawn, they’ll storm the castle and none of us want that.” He flashed her a grin and she exhaled, not all too angry.

 

“Also, I have to convince them this is the right decision.” He added slyly, probably hoping she wouldn’t pick up on it.

 

At that Sansa nearly doubled over. “What do you mean _ ‘convince them’? _ You’re their commander, won’t you just tell them?”

 

Sandor pulled on his boots without looking at her. “Doesn’t work that way in the West.” He looked up and smiled at her completely surprised facial expression, “But I guess you didn’t know that.”

 

“Do I need to come with you? Say something? Do something?” Sansa was beside herself. She had done all of that -- literally given herself fully to Clegane -- and it wasn’t even sure he could uphold his end of the bargain. At least that was how it sounded.

 

Seemingly amused by her distress, Sandor picked up his shirt and swung it over his shoulder.This action struck her as odd, given the nights were cold. Yet, as he turned for the door, she could see the scratches that covered his back more clearly. Some red with blood, on his flesh, others only just pink and raised. It looked like he had been in a fight with a wild cat -- and then it clicked.  _ ‘Some male ego badge of honor no doubt.’   _ Sansa narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Easy woman. You worry too much.” He was toying with her now, testing her in yet another way. “Aren't we supposed to trust each other now?”

 

Crossing her arms, Sansa did not effort  hide her anger with him one bit. That only seemed to make him smile more broadly.

 

“I’ll be back by dawn and by then you had better be rested.” There was a glint in his eye as he said his words, and it only served to anger her further.

 

“Maybe I’ll have a headache by then.” She spat back at him, not wanting to give into his stupid childish game.

 

The Hound merely grinned confidently and walked out of the room, not even looking back to acknowledge her extreme displeasure with the situation. There was a long moment where she stared at the door in surprise that he would leave without so much as a proper discussion or plan. But what could she do now anyway? There was this odd feeling of not knowing whether she had been duped or not -- she couldn’t handle another misstep. Not at this stage. Sansa lay back on the pillows and pulled her furs up to her shoulders. There were often lessons in life one had to learn, and this certainly had to be one of them. She would have to trust herself despite all that had just transpired, she would have to be patient and calm. After a few deep inhalations, Sansa began to feel a calm spread through her chest where all of her tension and anger had been. Settling into the soft warm bed the young she-wolf made herself a promise.  

 

_ ‘If he doesn’t come back with good news by morning, I’ll kill him myself.’ _ That gave her a smile as she gave into her tired body’s desire, for a long and restful sleep.


	7. Epilogue:  First Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year on, the war with the South is close to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a short ending for a short smutty story. I enjoyed writing this and thank all of you who read, commented, kudos, reread -- makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 
> 
> Hugs hugs hugs!

# Epilogue: First Blood

 

**1 year later**

 

The wind whipped Sansa’s hair around her face such that she could barely distinguish her own locks from the colors of the Lannister men lined up across the field. Winter was coming, the signs were everywhere and it made her nervous. Her horse moved nervously prompting Sansa to pull the unruly mare’s reigns tighter. They were here now, at the Twins, the edge of her natural lands.

 

 _‘May you rest in peace you old bat.’_ Sansa smiled to herself, the untimely death of the Elder Frey still fresh. Sandor had not let him stand in the way of their, not caring for bloodlines and lordships allowed him to be much more judicious in his behavior.

 

It had been a difficult year on many fronts, Sansa could not deny it. Sandor Clegane was a difficult man to put it mildly. He was brash, ill mannered and his jokes were often baudy -- yet she had learned that the younger Clegane was indeed a man of his word. That certainly offset the other, more distasteful parts of him. If he said he would take a castle, he did it. If he threatened a man’s life, he killed him. If he said he would end this war today, Sansa knew he would. Or at least die trying.

 

He had been good to his word, having dragged her from war camp to war camp as they fought for the North. She’d never been so poorly dressed uncomfortable and filthy in her whole life -- nor had she ever learned so much as she had by his side. The Hound was a man of many surprises, that was something she had come to understand very soon after their hasty marriage. Though he would have never asked her tactical opinion openly, or had given her credit for winning battles for him -- that didn’t he didn’t respect her genius. It was a man’s world, Sansa had always known that. But in this world Sandor had encouraged certain freedoms in her that no proper lord would have. He never banished her from the war tent, for one. It was important for her to listen to their plans, hear his captains speak their concerns and -- later when they had left -- advise him on how to handle situations that came up in war. She was his closest advisor and every inch of her lands they had retaken had been together. That was incredibly soothing, particularly when she could now stare the last of the Lannister army in the face.

 

Sandor Clegane had also been true to other words he had spoken to her on that fateful night almost exactly one year ago. He had never hurt her or treated her poorly, infact their relationship was punctuated by a physical bond that had far surpassed her expectations. Engaging in intercourse frequently had been daunting and tiring at first, but she had quickly adjusted to her husband’s sexual desires. Had he not asked her opinion on a battle after the heat of their passion or confessed his failures to her as she pressed up against him for warmth in the night, she would have said he had brought her on this campaign with him for sex alone. But no, she had quickly seen it was a superstitious man’s ritual to indulge himself with his wife on the eve of battle and return to her arms afterward. She laughed now thinking about it, but he had gotten under her skin with his wit and roguish charms. Sandor was kind to her and she supported him -- they had a good bond, a strong one. It was more than she could have hoped for.

 

Gripping her belly gently, Sansa was kicked back into reality by the movement of their child. While she could not say whether she indeed loved Sandor, she was very much in love with the child inside of her. Sandor had sired quickly, though that was never in question. What was more questionable was where she would give birth. This had, in turn, lead to another promise from her lord husband -- that she would birth the child in Winterfell castle. The Hound was, as he had said he would be, not a loving man in the way her fairy tales may have been. But he was caring, even if he did not show it how one might expect. Certainly he had enjoyed placing his hands on her growing belly at night, when he thought she was sleeping, and sighing to the movements of the child.

 

 _‘He’s a good man.’_ Sansa said to herself, her eyes focused on the threat ahead of them.

 

Handing her the looking glass, Sandor pointed off in the distance. “You see that?” He asked, a grin on his face.

 

It took her a moment to find what he wanted her to, but when she did her tummy did flips. Sansa turned back to him, their eyes meeting and the same smile spreading across their faces. “He’s here.” Was all she could say.

 

Nodding Sandor took the looking glass back, “Jamie-Sister-Fuckin- Lannister. You know what that means.”

 

“This is truly their last stand.” She said, though she knew an answer wasn’t necessary. They had been talking about it for ages and both knew that if Jamie would march his armies all the way here to meet them, that it would the best -- and last -- hope of the Lannisters.

 

“We did it.” Sansa said looking off into the distance, attempting to control her giddiness.

 

“Aye.” He answered. “That means we can’t just win this battle, we need to destroy them.”

 

She had been with Sandor long enough to know what that meant, and it would neither be a pretty nor desirable outcome for their opponents. But it was the right one. Gods forbid they regroup and march north once the snows melt in spring. Sansa had pleaded to Sandor they withdraw from the Twins to Winterfell for the next months and he had refused. She had been angry at the time, but now she understood why he had pressed on -- knew he wanted to end this war as much as she did.

 

“Be careful out there.” She said, knowing he would ride at the front with his men. It was his way and the soldiers were loyal to him for it. It had not bothered her at first, she had been agnostic about how he fought and where he was in the formations. Though as time had worn on, Sansa had become more and more fearful of him riding into battle as he had. If for no other reason than she had begun to care for him.

 

A cheeky grin crossed his face, “Since when did you get so sentimental woman?”

 

He was teasing her, something she had come to appreciate as they spent more time together. Their eyes met and Sansa could sense a spark in them, a passion that smouldered deep inside of him for her. Something that could not easily be snuffed out, even after all of their arguments and discussions over this year. She merely gave him an affronted look that made him laugh all the more. If there was one thing she would never understand, it would be his ridiculously good mood before fighting. Others would throw-up from fear, but the Hound would merely laugh in its face.

 

“We’ll go down the middle. That fucking pretty boy cunt won’t expect something so bold. When it starts looking like we’re having a tough time, like the fight is turning toward the cunt’s side…”

 

“I’ll call in the side flanks.” Sansa finished his sentence. They had discussed this tactic often, be it in the war tent or in the throws of passion. It would work, at least she hoped so.

 

Sandor nodded, his eye glancing over her full belly. “Then we destroy them.”

 

“And if we don’t?” Sansa asked.

 

The Hound bent forward in his saddle so he could get a better look at Lady Brienne, on her mount just on the other side of Sansa. The two had come to an understanding over the last few months. Nevertheless it had not been easy. His constant jabs and her fearlessness had culminated in a sword fight that had not been for the faint of heart. They had each drawn blood that day, but had proven -- perhaps most shockingly to each other -- that they were evenly matched. If Sansa had to say it, she would have said Brienne had won. For her lord husband had come back to her with more gashes to his person and a broken nose. After that they had respected one another, particularly after Sansa had seen to Sandor’s slightly bruised ego. She smiled thinking of that particular night, for she was fairly sure it was the night their child was conceived.

 

“If it looks as though we are too lose,” Brienne began, “Then m’lady and I will ride for Winterfell.”

 

Clearly they had discussed this beforehand, without Sansa’s knowledge. Sandor added, “I don’t want my boy born in the dirt of this place.” He was dead serious, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 

“But we have a better chance to win. And when we do…” Sandor’s eye looked over her again and he didn’t have to finish the sentence. Sansa knew what he was thinking and it made her blush even though it was high time she should not. “Keep the furs warm for me.” He said confidently, then spurred Stranger forward to meet with his captains.

 

“He’s incorrigible.” Brienne said, glancing over at Sansa as she did so.

 

“That he is.” Sansa said with a smile.

 

“He’ll come back my Lady. It seems no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get himself killed.” Brienne’s words were sarcastic in nature, but Sansa always had to look twice to make sure her Sworn Sword wasn’t serious. At that little jab Sansa shook her head, but smiled all the same.

 

“I know he will.” That was harder to say, but if anything it embodied Sansa’s hope that he would. The Hound had more than endeared himself to her, he was a part of her now.

 

“What will you do with him when there are no more wars to fight?” Brienne asked, looking off into the distance to view the ever changing movement of men.

 

“House train him.” Sansa said with a grin, “Turn him into a proper lord somehow.”

 

“Good luck with the house training bit.” Brienne said with a bit of a laugh, the two women shared a good chuckle.

 

They were fighting the good fight, for themselves and for the North. What had started as an enemy in her lands, had changed into something she could have not predicted. ‘ _Perhaps I’ll even love him.’_ Sansa thought to herself, knowing that when the stress of war was gone she would have space in her heart for something more. Steading her horse, Sansa saw the Hound draw first blood and she knew they would triumph.


End file.
